


Sesquipedalian

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [254]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Story: The Adventure of the Three Garridebs, a bit of angst, first kiss implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:08:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9079855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: sesquipedalian: adjective: ses·qui·pe·da·lian: given to or characterized by the use of long words; long-winded
from Merriam-Webster:
Horace, the Roman poet known for his satire, was merely being gently ironic when he cautioned young poets against using "sesquipedalia verba"-"words a foot and a half long"-in his book Ars poetica, a collection of maxims about writing. But in the 17th century, English literary critics decided the word sesquipedalian could be very useful for lambasting writers using unnecessarily long words. Robert Southey used it to make two jibes at once when he wrote "the verses of [16th-century English poet] Stephen Hawes are as full of barbarous sesquipedalian Latinisms, as the prose of [the 18th-century periodical] the Rambler." The Latin prefix sesqui- is used in modern English to mean "one and a half times," as in "sesquicentennial" (a 150th anniversary).





	

John knew something was wrong even before he opened his eyes. Someone was holding his hand, someone with long, calloused fingers; both hands, in fact, were wrapped around the one hand he could move. "Damn. Not again."

"John?" Sherlock's voice seemed to be stuck on his name. "John. John? John. Please open your eyes." 

He almost laughed, until he saw Sherlock's face. "Shit. I'm sorry. Just not used to you being so -"

Sherlock looked down at their hands and gently let go, then pushed himself out of the chair and walked to the window.

"So?"

"Monosyllabic."

"Ah. Yes. Well."

"Now you have me worried, I'd rather you were your usual sesquipedalian self. These little sound bytes -"

"I, uhm, thought I'd lost you. You almost bled out in my arms, I spent an hour talking non-stop, trying to keep you conscious before they found us. You passed out after half an hour, I couldn't stop talking, Lestrade had to make me let go of you, so they could bring you here."

"How long?" John whispered, and grunted as he tried to sit up.

"Don't." Sherlock turned at the sound. "Let me? Please?" He walked back to the bed, trying to avoid John's eyes. "Three days ago." He sat down, adjusted the bed and picked up his friend's hand again. "It was my -"

"No."

"It was, John. Always my fault."

"Look at me."

"No."

"Sherlock, love."

Sherlock's head snapped up and his red, exhausted eyes blinked at John. "What did you say?"

"When?"

"Just now, what.did.you.say?"

"Love?"

"Yeah. That."

"Didn't you know?" John sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Uhm, there have been mixed signals over the years."

"Yeah, I know. Uhm, I'm sorry?"

"You're sorry?" Sherlock's face crinkled, as if he was unsure whether to cry or to burst out laughing.

"Come here." 

"Why?" 

"Just, please?" 

"John. If you aren't sure - please, don't, I can't -"

"Sherlock?"

"What?"

"Fer once, just shut up."

"Yes, John."


End file.
